Tuesday, 15 April 2014


 a heart becomes,
 to head off hurt that picks away at skin.
 We turn stones and send life scurrying,
 up, down, through a mountain.
 The voice cries, open sesame.
 We gather stone upon stone upon sparkly stone
 to fill our arms. The hole we leave, as wide
 and scorched as grief.

Susan Jane Sims

This is a very recent poem and written in response to a prompt on the Blog 52 hosted by Jo Bell.The prompt was to choose a word from a given list and write an Assay poem. 

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